


Scarlet

by bassclarinety



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Graham has great hair, Gray is Graham in this, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Wingman Graham, and knows it, enough that I need to put in the tag, he has habits leftover from his villainous days, see if you can spot them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 18:29:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17833856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bassclarinety/pseuds/bassclarinety
Summary: His mediocre life was always the same, never changing, always constant, and little to no real fun.Until he met Carmen.





	Scarlet

**Author's Note:**

> FYI, there is a girl in her who's implied to be lesbian, just a warning.  
> Gray is Graham, Scarlet is Carmen, Potato Potato.  
> Also, I know that some people don't really like the Grey/Carmen stuff because of how Carmen says she feels about him, but my question for those people is; Why are you reading this if you don't support the slash?

_Carmen Sandiego._

_That name is unforgettable._ Graham thought. _The shining star among the mediocre life that I live._

* * *

 Graham’s favorite café was a constant in his life. He’d wake up at 6 am sharp each day, do a set of yoga routines, take a shower every other day (shampooing his hair every day would be a crime), and be heading out to the café before the clock had even struck 7.

He’d spend at least an hour just sitting at a table in the café, indoors or out, enjoying the sounds around him, eavesdropping random conversations, watching people without _actually_ looking at them (the only reason he always requested a spoon with his black coffee), and generally just wasting time. If he got bored with that, and the town hall clock hadn’t struck 9 yet, he’d take a leisurely stroll towards his place of employment, Sydney Opera house. _Constant._

He’d always be on time, or 5 minutes early, and there was no in between. He would clock in, chat with one of the Box Office girls; an almost laughably flustered girl (he would find her a suitable girlfriend if it was the last thing he did) by the name of Charlotte Lee, and then report to the main theater to perform routine checks on the light equipment. _Constant._

At 1 pm, Graham would join Charlotte at another café, one much closer to the Opera House, and eat a cheap meal, flag down a random girl that he would catch looking at their table and ask them if they wanted Charlotte’s number. Charlotte would always scold him after the girl walked away with Charlotte’s number in her pocket, but she never specifically _told_ him she didn’t approve, so he’d continue doing it. _Constant._

By 2 pm, Charlotte and Graham would go their separate ways, Charlotte to her evening shift in the Box Office, and Graham back to his backstage position, ready to perform their duties to prepare for the evening’s show, snatching a quick dinner from the Cast and Crew area backstage at 6. _Constant._

At 6:30 pm, Graham would stick to his post around the stage manager’s desk, watching the door to make sure nobody wandered to where they weren’t supposed to be. The _Authorized Personnel Only_ didn’t always register with people. _Constant._

By 9:30 pm, the show would be over, but Graham’s night wouldn’t be over till at least 10, if he were quick about his closing duties. _Constant._

He’d always be walking home by 10:45, listening to the sounds of Sydney at night, and would lazily change into proper sleep clothes right when he’d get home, sleepily brush his teeth (never miss cleaning his _dazzling_ smile), and all but collapse into his mediocre bed in his mediocre flat on in his mediocre neighborhood, with his mediocre neighbors. _Constant, Constant, Constant._

_Okay that part was an absolute lie; the little old lady he lived across from made him a warm wool sweater with some biblical image when he first moved in, and the couple living in the flat right above him brought him a large tuber ware container full of delicious food when he was recovering from the accident that robbed him of his memories, but Graham had always been fond of being dramatic._

But the point is, his mediocre life was _always_ the same, never changing, always constant, and little to no real fun.

Until he met Carmen.

God, he’d never met someone that intrigued him like that girl. Charlotte was cool and all, but her consistency in wearing dresses every time he saw her was boring. She always looked nice, but it was constant. Carmen, though he called her Scarlet at first, was wearing a bright red, _no_ , a scarlet ensemble of a trench coat and fedora that was only matched in boldness by her natural red hair, hence the name Scarlet.

When he saw her backstage, he was almost too stunned by her outfit to even confront her about how she wasn’t allowed backstage without a backstage pass.

When he called out to her, he found himself grateful that she seemed just as stunned by his looks [author’s note, she wasn’t stunned by his looks, per say, just shocked to see him] as he was by hers, because he found it hard to look past those shockingly gray eyes. _Or were they purple?_

When he managed to snap out of his admiration of her eyes, he insisted on escorting her out of the Personnel’s door pausing to watch her slowly sashay down the hall before forcing himself to return to his post. His work that night was plagued by thoughts of how he felt like he should know her, but the memories were _just_ _out of reach_.

_Definitely can’t forget that kind of face._

Later, at 10:30 sharp, he was walking down the steps of the Opera House, humming the _L’amour est un oiseau rebelle_ from that night’s show, the _Carmen_ , when that beautiful girl plaguing his thoughts just appeared with a gush of wind behind her. **

Graham felt his heart leap at the sudden appearance of her, _wow I didn’t even hear her come up_ , and immediately turned back towards her. “Hey, I remember you. Scarlet Sneakeroo.” He drawled, maybe slightly flirted, as he walked; no, _stalked_ _why was he walking like that_ , towards Scarlet.

“Great memory” she ventured, and Graham noticed while her body language was neutral, there was something weird that flashed briefly in those purple-grey eyes of hers, something he couldn’t quite place, but he ignored it.

Realizing what she said, he deflated a little bit, “Not really.” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, and he noticed her expression tighten, so he ventured “So, looking to get backstage for an autograph, Scarlet?”

“No. To the outback for some sightseeing” she corrected. “Thought you could be my guide.”

“I wish.” _Damn it, today of all days, why did that stupid board have to break?_ “Something fried the soundboard tonight, and I’ll be needed more than ever in the morning to fix it so it’ll be up and running for the next show.” While he was talking, he pulled a card and pen out of one of his jacket’s inner pockets.

“You mentioned having a bad memory.” Scarlet enquired, “Why is that?”

Looking back up at Scarlet, Graham found himself drawing a blank on the reason. _I don’t know the reason my memory is gone. Can’t say that though, it sounds really weird._

“Well, I--” He felt his eyebrows burrow, “I kind of messed up on the job a while back, got a little ‘jolt’, as we sparkies say.” He shrugged, brushing off his own thoughts of _that’s not right, but that’s what my doctor told me happened…_ “Complete blackout, long hospital stay, blah, blah.” He chuckled, scribbling the name of his café as he did “There’s more than an entire year of my life I can’t remember.”

“A whole year?” Scarlet seemed appalled, _used to that response_ , but he missed the sorrow that leaked through her voice.

“I’d say I’m lucky to have my job back, if being an electrician weren’t such a dangerous occupation.” Graham joked, holding out the card to her.

“Oh,” she drawled, “I can think of worse ones.”

_Wasn’t expecting that response._

“Is this the address of an outback guide?” Scarlet asked, and Graham fought a blush.

“Oh, a good guide’s easy to find online, Scarlet.” It was taking everything in Graham to _not_ stumble over his words. “This is the address of my favorite café in Sydney.” _What possessed him to do this, what was he, a blushing schoolboy?_ “I’ll be there Friday night at 8 pm.” _Year 10 all over again._ “What about you, Scarlet?” _I’m setting myself up for disappointment._

“Let’s see if I make it back from my tour in one piece.” God, was Scarlet really that worried about the Outback’s creatures?

As Scarlet slid past him, he realized that he didn’t have Scarlet’s real name, and that was just improper of him. “Hey, I never got your name!” he shouted after her.

“Carmen” she called back, without even turning her head to look back towards him.

Laughing, because it was quite the coincidence that she and the show shared a name, he muttered “You are a cheeky one, Scarlet” under his breath and began his walk back to his flat, his thoughts again plagued by that Scarlet Carmen.

He didn’t stop thinking about her.

* * *

\/\/\\(Time skip, skipping to about 7:55 pm, Friday night)/\/\/

* * *

 Graham felt hopeful for the first time since his diagnosis with that weird, white-haired doctor about his memories. Over the past week, from when he first saw Scarlet Carmen, to when he gushed about her to Charlotte at lunch (though he thinks she was just happy he wasn’t dedicating himself to giving out her number) to his walk home from work every night, he couldn’t help but think that that Scarlet was a link to his lost memories.

He also couldn’t get that face out of his head. All he wanted to do was just stare into those expressive eyes, drown in his inability to discern if they were purple or gray. He wanted something that wasn’t mediocre, something he could look at all day, and find new things every time.

He sighed heavily and glanced at his watch. 8 p.m. _She might not be coming._ He propped his chin in the palm of his hand, watching people walk on the sidewalk across the street.

Time felt like it was wading through molasses. Watching the people directly in his line of sight gets boring when you can’t dedicate your mind to actually seeing them.

He turned his head towards the bus stop to the left of him, looking at the billboard advertising the showtimes for _Carmen_ at the Opera house. He lifted his arm to look at his watch.

“8:05.” He muttered. “Not here.” He put his arm back down, looked back the billboard, and there, standing right in front of the _Carmen_ poster was Scarlet Carmen herself.

His heart fluttered for the second time in a week. He felt his face split into a grin, and stood up, ready to call out her name-

But he saw her look up, and he felt his smile fade a bit. She flashed him a small, sad smile, and before he could even mutter her name, a bus passed the billboard, blocking his view of her briefly, and when the bus was gone, so was Carmen.

He looked around, looking for that face against group after group of tourists, but all he managed to glimpse was a bright red, no, _Scarlet_ hood disappearing into the crowded sidewalk.

* * *

 \/\/\\(Time Break)/\/\/

* * *

 Graham was back in his flat earlier than he had been in months. It was barely 9:15 and he was already home. His favorite café was less than a 20-minute walk from his home, but he was so heart-stricken that a normally pleasant walk turned to an hour-long trudge, leaving him to feel like the air itself had turned into molasses.

His thoughts were, once again, thoroughly plagued by that Carmen Sandiego, and more torturously than ever before.

_He knew those eyes._

He stood in the middle of his tiny living room and found he had no recollection of even unlocking his door.

Had he imagined meeting Carmen all together? Was his troubled mind making up things?

_He knew that hair._

Seeing Carmen across the street had sparked something in him besides that stupid fluttering sensation- and it felt like recognition.

Graham felt weird inside, like his insides, head, and the back of his knees were simultaneously rebelling. He felt himself stumble, and caught himself on his bistro table, using his arm strength alone to keep himself standing. He was panting, and he could see sweat dripping down his face and pooling on the wooden surface of the table.

_He knew that face._

Graham’s right arm buckled, and he stumbled again, using his falling momentum to sit himself heavily in the chair next to the table.

_He knew that girl._

_But not by the name Carmen._

Graham shifted in his chair, propping his elbows on the table and dropped his cheek into his hand-

_What was her name?_

-and instantly recoiled at how damp his cheek was, _gross_ , reached blindly for the fabric he knew was draped over his chair, and brought it up to wipe off his face. Graham closed his eyes.

_Did it start with a J? Maybe it started with an M. No, it started with a B._

The fabric he was using to wipe off his face was very soft, but scratchy at the same time.

_Was it Bella? Or could it be Bianca? Brooklyn? Those don’t sound right…_

Graham realized the fabric was that of the wool sweater his neighbor the little old lady gave him. She had knitted a really beautiful image into the pattern, one of a valley with five Shepherds and their flock of sheep.

_It was a strange name, one that he clearly remembers laughing at the first time he heard it._

Graham had never really paid attention to the details of the sweater, he only wore it when it was really cold in his flat. His neighbor was fiercely religious, so he had always assumed it was biblical. He looked closer at the sheep in the front of the flock. At the very front, standing out against its white woolled companions-

_-was a Black Sheep._

**Author's Note:**

> **I wanted him to call her Scarlet, so some of the dialogue will be different to better match that name.  
> In other news, with my Demon Prison fic (it really needs a better name), I said in one of the notes that I was going to try to update once a week. Well, I'm almost over halfway done with my senior year of high school, and I've found myself lacking in the inspiration department. Any updates will be rare, but I swear there will be updates!


End file.
